Pearl's House
by an-ocean-in-the-sky
Summary: Cameron tried to shake off the feeling of being watched and made quick work of searching the place for anything unusual. Problem was, everything there was unusual.  A/U  House/Cameron
1. Chapter 1

Cameron, with her bag slung over her shoulder, stood at the end of the dock, bouncing a little on her toes in nervous anticipation. She tugged at her gloves and scarf, glanced at the rickety old dock beneath her feet and sighed.

"Are you sure this is okay, House?"

"Sure I'm sure. I'm never wrong," he said, yanking the pull cord again and then again.

"You've driven one of these before right?"

"It's a motorboat, Cameron, not brain surgery. Funnily enough, I can do that too."

In his beanie and his charcoal pea coat, he looked as if he belonged to the sea, a weathered captain from a distant era. She watched, momentarily distracted from her nerves by the thought of him in another time, perhaps coming home to his one true love after months at sea. It was easy to picture him, seasoned and cynical, softening only when in her presence.

In a moment he had the boat's motor running, and gave her a triumphant look. "Come on, let's go."

Shaking her head, she scolded herself for her wandering thoughts and decided that when she got home she would have to pack away her DVD of Horatio Hornblower, because she had clearly watched it one too many times.

Stepping gingerly into the boat, she perched herself on the bench across from him, setting her bag at her feet and clutching the edge of the little craft with both hands. Twisting in her seat, she turned to see their destination. Just along the horizon, she made out the shoreline of the island, a desolate place edged with brown sea grass waving in the winter wind as if warning them away.

"Relax Cameron. We'll take a quick look around and then we'll head back."

"But what exactly are we looking for?" she said, impatiently.

"We'll know when we find it," he said, rolling his eyes at her.

He eased the boat away from the dock and out into the choppy water, aiming straight for the little island.

"I just don't understand why _I _had to come. You don't trust me to stay with the patient?"

"I trust you," he said, "but Foreman's a city boy. He'd be useless out here. Better for him to stay with the patient. And Chase is just an idiot, no matter the setting."

"And what, you thought I had some special survival training growing up in Chicago?" she asked with a derisive little snort.

"You weren't a girl scout?" he asked with faux shock, and she just rolled her eyes at him and turned again to watch as the island grew bigger than just a blur on the horizon. In the distance, she saw a structure of some sort rising out of the rocky earth that looked about as welcoming as the sea grass, and she shuddered.

"This is not how I intended to spend New Year's eve," she said, shivering in the frigid Atlantic air.

"Yes, it really sucks when patients get sick on holidays. How rude of them to inconvenience us like that."

"That's not what I meant," she muttered. "I don't mind working. At the hospital. You know, where it's warm and dry and doesn't look like something out of a horror movie?"

"Well suck it up, Princess," he mocked. "It's not exactly my idea of holiday fun either."

"Oh I'm so sorry. Did you have a hooker booked for tonight?" she grumped. "Do they charge extra for holidays?"

"Don't worry. I'm sure I'll find an acceptable substitute," he replied with a leer and a wink.

"Dream on," she muttered under her breath.

House steered the little boat right up to the craggy shoreline, ignoring the scrape of rock on the metal hull. Cameron grabbed her bag and hopped out gracelessly, landing in six inches of icy water. She eyed the slope of the beach, all slippery stone and wondered how the hell they were supposed to climb that.

"Over here," House called, and she realized he was already out of the boat, standing at a set of natural steps carved out of the earth that led up the hill. She had no idea how he managed it; his feet weren't even wet, she noted with an envious sigh.

Once they were on higher ground, she saw the building was a two story house with peeling paint and heavy leaded glass windows and a widow's watch standing proudly above the roofline, a row of curved windows looking out over the sea. Though the outside of the house looked a bit faded, it appeared to be solidly built and held a certain charm to it despite its lonely existence.

"I can't believe Pearl lives here," Cameron said, marveling, as they crossed the porch to the front door.

"Who's Pearl?" House asked.

"Our patient."

"Really? I thought her name was... actually, I had no idea what her name was."

"How does an 87 year old woman live out here alone? I don't even see power lines; how does she have electricity?"

"Maybe she doesn't," House replied, opening the front door with ease. "Hope you brought a flashlight."

She did. Pulling it from her bag, she shone it around the room, discovering oil lanterns and candles placed on various surfaces. They found matches and lit a few lanterns, each carrying one around the house.

The rooms were strange, a mixture of something comforting and unsettling all at once, both alive and dead at the same time, as if the place had held its breath a hundred years ago. Every furnishing, curtain, knick knack and floor covering was from a time gone by and yet Cameron sensed a familiarity to it, like the feeling of a long forgotten memory seeping into the edges of her conscious mind.

The sitting room was filled with floral prints and Victorian settees and lace doilies all facing a very ornate mahogany fireplace. The portraits on the wall were of somber men with high starched collars and women wearing dresses with full ruffled skirts and holding parasols. She took only a cursory glance at them at first, but one picture in particular froze her in place, a pair of shocking blue eyes in a gruff, weathered face peering down at her as if he could read her thoughts. Whenever she tried to look away, she felt as if those eyes followed her, and so she moved back and then back again until she could turn, keeping watch over the portrait out of the corner of her eye.

Despite the ancient decor, the place was immaculately clean from what she could tell in the dim light, as if the occupants had left only moments ago. Except, it felt as if someone had stayed behind, peering out from some dark corner. Cameron tried to shake off the feeling of being watched and made quick work of searching the place for anything unusual. Problem was, everything there was unusual.

The bedrooms were more creepy than the sitting room; the beds were perfectly made with old fashioned coverlets that looked gently worn. Each room had a little basin and pitcher for washing and a round stuffed chair and matching ottoman. The furniture was flawless- antique pieces made of deep rich mahogany and probably worth a fortune. She dared a peek in the drawers and found them full of clothing that had not been in style for over a hundred years: delicate petticoats and stockings and corsets mixed with things she didn't recognize. A trunk at the end of the bed was filled with dresses like the ones she'd seen in the portraits downstairs. Feeling as if the owner of the belongings was watching, judging her, she touched as little as possible.

Her curiosity led her up another narrow staircase to the widow's peak, where the view was stunning. The room was sparse, with a rocking chair, a small bookshelf that held a handful of old books and a basket of knitting. The planks of the floorboards told a tale of much pacing and waiting, and an intense loneliness overcame Cameron as she stood in a strangely familiar spot and looked out over the blue-gray waters of the ocean. She found herself on the verge of tears for reasons she couldn't explain, and left the room, all but running down the staircase and fleeing to the kitchen.

"You find anything?" she called out, hoping House had discovered whatever thing he was looking for so they could get out of there.

"Nope," he said, startling her from a few feet away. "This place is weird, but I don't see anything that would cause her symptoms. You check the bathroom?"

Nodding, she pointed to a little walled off room just off the kitchen and reported her findings. "Large clawfoot tub with a pump, very clean. Scented soaps in the shape of roses and seashells, some lotions, and a few sponges and an oil soap for wood... No medications that I could find. I got samples of the soaps and the water, just in case, but..."

"Yeah, that's not it. Damn. Let's blow this joint."

Darkness was descending, so they extinguished the lanterns and made their way back to the boat as fast as they could. Except when they got to the shore, there was no boat there.

"What the hell? You didn't tie the boat?" Cameron cried, swinging around to face him.

"Oops!"

"You said you knew what you were doing. How the hell are we supposed to get home now?"

"You a good swimmer?" he joked, while pulling out his cell phone. "Relax. I'll call Wilson to come get us."

He tried, and tried, and she tried hers as well, but there was no cell service on the little island.

"Now what?" she asked, looking back at the house standing tall in the ever increasing dark. It seemed to glower back at her and she looked away, ignoring the prickles on her spine. "It's freezing out here."

"We go back to the house and try again in the morning," he said. "At least we've got shelter."

"I don't want to spend the night in that house," she said. "It's creepy."

"Would you rather sleep out here and die from hypothermia?" he snapped, rubbing his fingers over his brow.

"Maybe," she retorted, tempted to smack him upside the head with her bag.

"Suit yourself. I'm going back to the house," he said, and limped off, leaving her standing where she was.

"Fine," she conceded, following him with an angry sigh. "How does such a damn genius forget to tie a boat?"

"I made a mistake," he muttered, "but thanks for throwing it in my face again."

He sounded genuinely contrite; she felt a little bad for blaming him and murmured, "Sorry" as they reentered the house.


	2. Chapter 2

They lit all the lanterns and candles they could find, but the light did nothing to dispel the sensation of some presence keeping watch over them. Cameron followed House, who seemed to follow his stomach. In the back of the place was the old style kitchen with a wood cookstove and a brick oven built into the side of a large fireplace. Wood was stacked neatly inside, just waiting to be lit. The shelves and cupboards held heavy stonewear dishes and cast iron pans. The only food consisted of bags of flour and sugar and homemade canned goods which looked surprisingly fresh. There was a tin filled with some sort of biscuits or cookies that looked like they had not been touched by time.

"How does it all look so... fresh?" she wondered, and turned just in time to see House bite into one of the biscuits from the tin. "Are you crazy?"

"What? If Polly lives here, then this is the food she eats," he replied, making a face as he chewed. Swallowing it down, he set the remains on the work table in the center of the room and made a face.

"Her name is Pearl, and she's dying in the hospital right now," Cameron pointed out, eyes wide with horror. "Possibly from something she ate."

"Nah, if it was food borne, we'd have figured it out by now. But she's a horrible cook," he added, with the look of a little boy who'd been forced to eat brussel sprouts.

Everything was quiet for a moment, eerily so, and then a crash from the front of the house made Cameron latch onto House's arm and squeeze. "What the hell was that?" she asked, releasing his arm and taking a deep breath to compose herself.

"Probably just the wind," he said, turning abruptly and limping back to the sitting room.

Cameron followed close behind, more unsettled with each passing minute. The walls seemed to close in on her and she swore she kept seeing movement out of the corner of her eye.

"See, nothing here," he said, nonchalantly glancing around and then zoning in on her bag which still hung across her body. "You got any food in that bag?"

"No," she answered, hugging herself and darting her gaze all around.

"Fine, then I'm going to turn in." He started up the steps and Cameron's heart nearly marched right out of her chest in fear.

"What? You're not just going to leave me here, are you?"

"What's the problem Cameron? There are bedrooms up here; pick one and make yourself at home. Or stay down here if you want. I'm going to get some sleep."

"Fine," she replied, defiant. If he wasn't scared, then she would show him that she wasn't either. She set her lantern down on one of the end tables and perched on the settee, watching as he maneuvered up the steps. As soon as he disappeared from sight, she stood again, pacing the room. Every creak and groan she heard set off her nerve endings like fire crackers. Ten minutes went by and she was more keyed up than before. From the kitchen she heard the tap tap tap of light footsteps, pacing back and forth, back and forth, like the clack of a woman's heels on hardwood, and it was as if whoever was making the sounds was imitating her movements. The faster Cameron moved, the faster the sounds came. It wasn't House; she knew it and she ran from the room and up the stairs to find him, not caring if he mocked her.

"House," she said with a sigh of relief, finding him in the first bedroom, stretched out on the snow white coverlet that covered the bed, head resting on the pillow and eyes closed. She didn't care what he said or thought, she climbed up beside him and laid down, close enough that her shoulder touched his. Her breath came in shallow gasps and she placed one hand over her heart as if to settle her raging heart rate.

"You just couldn't wait to get in bed with me, could you?" he mocked, turning to smirk at her.

"This place doesn't... bother you?" she asked, awed by his casual air, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

"It's just an old house," he said. "Nothing to be afraid of. What surprises me is that _you're_ afraid. Didn't think you were a believer in ghosts and things that go bump in the night."

"I'm... not. I mean... I never was before. But there's something about this place..."

"It's just your imagination," he muttered. "You've watched too many horror flicks."

"Maybe," she conceded, though she could count on one hand the number of horror movies she'd watched in her life.

Digging out her cell phone, she saw that it was only eight p. m., the beginning of a long night. She placed it on the bedside table and tried to get comfortable, though the shadows and the creaking sounds made it nearly impossible. The bedroom was even more disturbing than the sitting room; she really wanted out of there, but that would mean going downstairs alone. Weighing her options, she decided to stick with House even if the room freaked her out; it was the lesser of two evils.

Beside the old dresser, she spied a white mist hovering, undulating, but never forming any distinct shape. Lightning seemed to emanate from the center of it, crackling with electricity, and when it made a loud, indistinguishable noise, she gripped House's hand and stifled a scream.

_"I'm tired of waiting,"_ said a voice from the corner of the room, deep and distinctly male, and Cameron let out a yelp of fear and surprise, burying her face in House's neck. "Was that my imagination?" she whispered against his skin.

He didn't say anything, just sat up and grabbed the lantern, shining it around the room, but finding nothing. The mist had dissipated and the room was silent, but it felt as if the temperature had dropped at least five degrees and she shivered beside him. "House, let's go back downstairs. Please."

"Fine," he muttered, "If it means you'll shut up, we'll go back downstairs."

He acted unaffected, but Cameron noticed he moved with more speed than usual, leading her back down to the sitting room without a word of protest when she clung to his arm like a kitten hanging from a tree branch.

All of the candles they'd lit were now extinguished, though neither she nor House had blown them out. The only light came from their two lanterns. House placed his on the floor beside the fireplace, taking out the matches and lighting the kindling and wood that was carefully placed inside. It took a while, but soon enough he had a roaring fire that dispelled a little of the gloom. Cameron sat down beside him and stretched her still damp feet out toward the blaze to warm them.

They sat like that in silence for awhile, Cameron shifting a bit closer to him with every little noise she heard. She wondered again what time it was and then remembered she'd set her phone on the bedside table and forgotten it.

"I left my cell phone upstairs," she murmured, afraid even to speak too loudly, lest she spook House. Or herself.

"Well go and get it," he said, dismissively, as if he'd just told her to go to the lab.

"I can't go up there by myself," she said, horrified at the very thought.

"Well I'm not going back up there. My leg hurts," he snapped, popping a Vicodin into his mouth as if to prove his point. "We'll get it in the morning."

Taking off his coat, he wadded it up to form a makeshift pillow, placing it under his head and stretching out on the floor. She curled up beside him, stuffing her bag under her head, but when they heard a moaning sound from the kitchen, she pressed her face into his chest and reminded herself to keep breathing.

He wrapped one arm around her, and pulled her flush against him. "Relax Cameron," he murmured, his voice gentle and calm. "Even if there was something here, and I'm not saying there is, it can't hurt us. We'll be fine."

She nodded against him, blinking back tears, and tried to slow her frantic heartbeat, though it was impossible with the strange sounds all around them. Grunts and moans and whispers... and worse, a keening sort of cry that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Minutes felt like hours; she couldn't sleep and she knew House couldn't either. They were being watched, she was certain of that. Darting her gaze around the room, she saw a woman in a white dress in the hallway, not standing but sort of hovering there. Her hair was brown, pulled up at the sides and hanging down her neck in thick ringlets. Though Cameron couldn't fully make out all the details of her face, she got the impression of delicate features and a subtle beauty. Her shoulders were bare, the neckline of her dress hitting just above her breasts. The skirts of her dress were wide with layers of scalloped lace along the edges, falling nearly to the floor. Though Cameron couldn't distinguish eyes, she felt the figure staring down at them and then in the space of a blink, the woman was gone.

Cameron took a deep breath, and bit her lip to keep from vocalizing her terror. If her heart rate was frantic before, it had surely stopped altogether at that point. She said nothing, just clung tighter to House and kept her eyes closed from that point forward, silently wishing for a speedy end to the night and all the terrors it brought. At some point she remembered again that it was New Year's Eve; or maybe the new year had already begun, she wasn't sure. While other people were out celebrating, watching the ball drop and welcoming in a new year, she was lying there on the floor with House in a strange place just wishing for daylight. Surreal didn't even begin to cover it, she thought. She mused about Pearl, living in this creepy place all alone, unless the ghosts could be counted as company, and wondered how she managed.

Daylight finally came. House sat up up, pulling Cameron with him, and ran his hand tiredly over his scruff. She stood and reached down to help him to his feet, surprised at his silence. Following his gaze, she saw the reason for it; there on the lamp table sat her cell phone, placed neatly beneath a pool of flickering light cast by a candle that neither of them had lit. Her mouth hung open and she froze, while House grabbed the phone and thrust it at her.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," he said, plucking his coat off the floor with the end of his cane. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door, and though she'd been eager to vacate the premises since they'd first entered, she hesitated, thinking for a moment of Pearl.

"Maybe we should put out the fire and the candles and..."

"I'm sure the residents will take care of it," he retorted, dragging her out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

They walked resolutely back to shore, but there was still no cell phone service and still no boat. Undeterred, they followed the shoreline, hoping to find some sign of life. Hours passed, and the murky skies told of a coming storm. Cameron didn't care; she'd brave a blizzard before going back in that house. They circled it, keeping their distance and yet it felt as if it was following them. Cameron still couldn't shake the oppressive feeling of the place.

They were hungry and thirsty and cold and each had to take a turn answering the call of nature right there in the middle of... well, nature, and things were beginning to feel a bit hopeless when they saw a small fishing trawler just off shore. Shouting and waving, they managed to get the attention of the man on board, who dropped anchor and rowed a lifeboat ashore to fetch them.

Tall and slim, he looked to be peeking ahead to his 70's, with a silvery beard that was neatly trimmed and set off his dark skin, and he carried the aura of a man familiar with the sea. In his eyes was a sparkle of humor and kindness and wisdom. Cameron had never been so happy to see another human being in her life, and barely refrained from hugging him.

"What on earth are you folks doing way out here?" he asked.

"We were just... exploring," House said, giving Cameron a look, "and our boat got away from us."

They climbed in and the man shoved off from shore and began rowing them back to his boat. "Well it's a good thing I came out then. No one but me much comes out this way. And there's a storm brewin'. My wife Estelle was nagging at me to stay in, but.. " he trailed off and chuckled. "Well, I can't help myself. Got a little Captain Ahab in my blood. Name's Henry Matthews, by the way."

"I'm Allison Cameron," Cameron said, with an attempt at a smile, as she kept her eyes on the house in the distance and it watched back.

"House," House said, rubbing at his scruff as if it itched him. "You do know Captain Ahab is a fictional character, right?"

Henry laughed, a hearty chuckle that came from deep within, and said, "I do indeed, sir. I do, indeed. My point was, I don't like to miss a day of being out on the water, trying to catch me a big fish."

"Ah," House replied simply. "That makes more sense."

Cameron gave him a withering glare, and they spent the rest of the trip in silence.

Moments later they climbed aboard Henry's fishing boat and he secured the life raft. "Welcome to the Jolly Jane," he said. "She ain't pretty, but she's solid. I'll have you back on dry land in no time."

The hull was bright blue, with two red stripes; a small wooden pilothouse protruded from the deck and the whole thing smelled of fish. Latched to the side of the pilothouse was an old bike with a wire basket on the front. It was a strange thing to have on a boat, and Cameron eyed it curiously for a moment.

Henry caught her staring as he moved to take the wheel and start the engine. "Gas got too expensive, and it was either the truck or the boat. I gave up the truck and took up bike riding. Keeps me in shape too," he said with a wink. "I ride it to the dock and back. Usually have to stop off at the Market to get something for Estelle. That woman's always wantin' something."

Though he complained about Estelle, there was an affection in his voice that Cameron found endearing. She had no doubt that he secretly enjoyed running errands for his wife. "I'm sure she appreciates it," she offered, adding a small smile when he laughed in response.

A gentle rain had begun to fall, and the water rose and fell in choppy waves. Cameron stood facing the island, concerned that Henry had forgotten to lift anchor because the house never grew any smaller. She was convinced that the upstairs bedroom windows had turned into a pair of malevolent eyes, challenging her from afar. House stood beside her looking at it too, but after a moment he turned his back to the island, reaching for her arm and turning her away as well. Neither said a word until they finally docked in the sleepy inlet of Silver Pine Beach, the lights of town blinking a welcome in the gray afternoon sky.

"I've got to batten down this thing before the storm hits. But the hotel is 'bout a mile or so down that way," Henry said, pointing west. "You folks have a good evening now."

"Are you sure we can't help?" Cameron offered, ignoring House's scowl of disapproval.

"Nah. You all go on and get inside before it gets ugly out here. I'll be fine."

"Could we offer you something for your help, at least. We'd still be stuck out there if you hadn't come by."

"No ma'am, it was my pleasure," he said, tipping his hat.

Cameron thanked him and then they left him to his work, walking in the direction of a bright yellow hotel sign as if it were the star of David leading them to the manger. Everything they passed, save the Market, was closed for the winter, like many Jersey shore tourist towns. They stopped in briefly to grab some snack food and water and then hurried on their way.

"How far away do you think your car is?" Cameron wondered as they walked.

"Hard to say," House replied simply. He opened the bottle of water he was carrying, swigged half of it and then passed it to her.

She took his brief answer as a sign that he didn't want to talk, and so she left him alone and drank down the rest of the water, only just realizing that she hadn't had anything to drink for more than a day.

He leaned more heavily than usual on his cane, and she worried about his pain and the effects of their adventure on his leg.

The storm unleashed its full fury just moments after they arrived at the hotel. A hard wind blew the rain sideways and threatened to snap off the sign that had led them there. Inside, the lobby was bustling for a shore town in the off season; they learned that several nearby towns were being evacuated due to the storm. The harried lady behind the desk gave them a key for the last available room and they were on their way, Cameron looking forward to a warm shower and a soft bed and shelter that was free from unwanted guests.

House was quiet and humorless, almost disturbingly so. In their room, he flopped on the bed and popped a Vicodin and then pulled out his cell phone to check for service. He looked beyond tired, as if he had aged twenty years in the past twenty-four hours. It felt to Cameron as if the foreboding spirit of the house had stayed with them, an uninvited guest.

Grabbing her duffle bag from the corner of the bed, House dug in and pulled out the bags from the Market, ripping them open and dumping out the contents. He pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants that had the words Silver PIne Beach running down one leg. Tossing them to her, he nodded toward the bathroom and said, "You go first. I'll call Wilson."

She was surprised to learn he'd bought clothes for her; she hadn't even thought of it herself and didn't remember him getting anything more than junk food, so intent she'd been on keeping an eye on the skies outside. Touched, she blinked and smiled her thanks, heading for a nice hot shower.

When she emerged, House looked worse than before, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

"House, what's wrong?" she asked, easing down beside him.

"Leg hurts," he said, and she knew immediately that it was only part of the story. Before she could question him further, he grabbed his things and limped into the bathroom, closing the door between them.

While she waited, Cameron folded her clothes neatly and placed them in her bag. The storm outside intensified, rain slapping against the window and thunder crashing like giant cymbals in the sky. She lit the lamp beside the bed and checked her cell phone for messages.

Moments later House came out again, dressed in sweats like the ones he'd bought for her, and a t-shirt with a print of a giant pine cone on it. His hair was damp and sticking up all over, and though he looked completely beat, he also looked pretty damn fine and her heart fluttered in her chest with love for this complex man who both flustered and fascinated her.

"What did Wilson say?" she asked, patting the bed beside her.

"Said he can't drive out here in this," he muttered, waving toward the monsoon outside their window. "He'll try tomorrow."

"How's Pearl?"

His head snapped around to look at her and he narrowed his eyes. "What do you remember about Pearl?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I only saw her for like five seconds. You took her history. What do you remember?"

Shrugging, she said, "Pearl Cottin, eighty-seven years old, medium height with a slight build. She showed signs of weakness, trouble breathing, heart palpitations and ascending paralysis."

"She have any family?"

"No, I don't think so. She didn't list any next of kin or emergency contacts. Why? What's going on?"

Rubbing his face, he leaned back against the pillows and replied, "Wilson said we didn't have a patient named Pearl. That our last patient was the seventeen year old kid with Stendhal Syndrome."

"But... but that's impossible," Cameron cried. "I saw her. You saw her. We didn't just make her up. We ran tests on her and everything. What about Chase and Foreman? You left them in charge of her care. They must know."

"They told Wilson that you and I just walked out together and that they had no idea where we went."

"That's impossible," she repeated. "What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know. Maybe we're being punked."

She had no response to that. She had no response to anything. The whole thing was so strange and ridiculous. She'd admitted a sweet little old lady and took her history. She hadn't imagined any of it; she was as certain of that as she was that two plus two equalled four.

"We'll figure it out," House said, reaching over with his hand and pushing her jaw shut. "Right now let's just try and get some sleep."

He stood and yanked back the blankets, crawling beneath them and stretching out his arm in invitation. Curling up against him felt natural, she realized, as if they were long accustomed to sharing a bed. She snuggled into his side, her palm resting against his chest, comfortable and warm for the first time since they left his car at the old dock the day before. But still, sleep did not come for a very long time as her mind, and his, she was sure, tried to unravel the mystery of Pearl.


	4. Chapter 4

When Cameron awoke, she found House scrawling something on the complementary pad of paper left by the hotel. She knew immediately what he was writing; her thoughts had gone in the same direction during the night.

The television was tuned to the news, flashing scenes of wreckage from the storm, while outside the rain was still coming down, though it had slowed to a gentle patter.

"Got you a bagel," House said, inclining his head toward the bedside table. "And some juice."

She turned and saw a small paper plate with a plain bagel and a little container of cream cheese. Beside it stood a plastic cup of orange juice with a straw sticking out of the top. Something about the idea of him leaving her there in the room, as silly and irrational as it seemed, hurt. After all that had occurred... she didn't want to be alone yet. If she had roused from sleep to find him gone, she would've been worried, at the very least.

"You went down to breakfast?" she asked, trying to sound casual, and not like he'd abandoned her.

Glancing down at her, he paused, tapping the end of the pen against the pad of paper. In his eyes she saw the same vulnerability she was feeling, the same sense of separation anxiety. "I bribed one of the housekeepers to bring it up. I told her to bring coffee too. She's _so_ not getting tipped."

Relieved, she took a sip of orange juice and leaned over to look at the paper, his familiar scrawl slanted across the page. "You come up with any ideas?"

"Not yet," he said. "Just a list of symptoms."

"But there's nothing that would cause two people to have the same hallucinations. We didn't eat the same food, take the same drugs or... exchange bodily fluids. And if it was environmental, wouldn't Chase and Foreman be having the same symptoms?"

"Maybe we're not both hallucinating. Maybe it's just me."

"You think I'm part of your hallucination? House, no," she said, taking the list of symptoms from his hand. "I'm here too and this is real."

"Wouldn't be the first time I had hallucinations involving you," he admitted, scratching his thumb across his forehead. "And you'd say that even if you weren't really here."

"You had hallucinations about me before?"

Nodding, he glanced at her and she reached out and laid her palm against his cheek as if to reassure him with her touch that she was real, flesh and blood beside him on the bed.

"When I was shot," he continued, "I woke up and you were there. You'd been there for three days."

Her heart thumped painfully against her ribcage as she remembered. She'd wanted so desperately to stay by his bedside, but she felt he'd only resent her presence. She thought she wasn't wanted, and it hurt to learn the truth- that maybe she'd missed another chance. That was a mistake she wouldn't make again. Wrapping her arms around him, she murmured her regret. "I'm sorry I wasn't there then. But I'm here now. And if I wasn't here, then Wilson would've said something, right?"

Nodding again, he put his arms around her and they stayed that way for a few moments, with his heart beating in her ear. Finally he pulled away just far enough to lower his head and kiss her, one hand sliding up under her t-shirt, his large warm palm moving up her spine and pushing her until her chest was flush against his own.

"What are you doing?" she asked, breathless from his kiss.

"If I'm hallucinating, I might as well make the best of it," he answered, resuming his exploration of her mouth with his own.

She wanted to protest again, tell him it was all real, but her thoughts got all mixed up and all she could do was respond with kisses of her own. He had her naked in moments, spread out on the bed beside him. He drew back then, just when she thought she'd implode with need, and looked at her, and it was as if he was memorizing her, storing the mental picture of her away for the future. And then he brought one hand down, and with the tips of his fingers he trailed paths across her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, her lips, the hollow of her neck and down to the dip where her clavicles met. Then he moved lower still, fingers circling her breasts and nipples and gliding down to her naval. His touch was too much and not enough all at once, and she breathed his name just to make it stop or to urge him on.

Finally, he lowered himself to her, cupping her face and smoothing her hair away. "Beautiful," he murmured, while she slipped his shirt over his head and then tugged his pants down. She couldn't agree more; he was the most beautiful man she'd ever known. He joined their bodies together, urging one leg up and around him with his hand on the back of her thigh, and started an exquisite rhythm. While she met his thrusts, she began touching him everywhere she could, mapping out the muscles in his back and arms and the curve of his backside. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she came, and he followed just seconds behind her.

She hadn't even known she was crying until he reached up and touched one tear with his thumb, as if embedding his fingerprint into it. And then he kissed the spot where it fell, rolled off of her and drew her into his arms again. Outwardly, she tried to contain herself, but inside she was a mess of joy and sorrow, overcome with the bittersweet exquisiteness of the moment, afraid she might never experience it again.

"Best hallucination ever," he said with a grin, and she laughed, relieved to have a distraction from her thoughts. Tucked against him, she knew... there would never be anyone else for her but him.

Already his mind was back on the mystery, she knew. Hers too. It was all tied together, the terror they experienced and the intimacy they shared. She would never be able to separate how the worst night of her life led to something so amazing, though she had little hope that it would last back in Princeton, when life returned to some version of normal.

From the bedside table, House's phone vibrated, skittering across the surface and he snatched it up before it fell off completely.

She heard Wilson on the other end of the line, saying. "House, I'm on my way. I'll be there in an hour."

"Good," House replied, snapping his phone shut and turning back to Cameron. "When we get back, I want to run some tests."

"I know," she said with a smile. "Blood work, tox screen, MRI, EKG, EEG... Anything else?"

"That'll do for a start," he replied, ripping open a bag of chips and popping one in his mouth.

She ate her bagel and drank her juice, and then quietly got dressed again. House followed suit and then they checked out and waited in the lobby for Wilson, who arrived on time as promised.

The ride to the old dock was mostly silent. Wilson asked questions that neither of them could answer, and soon enough he gave up.

House's car was right where he'd parked it two days before. He left Wilson's vehicle and stood expectantly, waiting to open the passenger side door for Cameron as if there was no question she should stay with him.

"I'll... uh, follow you home," Wilson said, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the two of them like odd specimens beneath the microscope.

Unable to resist, Cameron turned on impulse to look out across the water at the little island and the house, shocked to find out how large and clear it looked in the distance when she was sure it was barely discernible the first time she spied it from that same vantage point. Trembling a bit at the sight of it, she turned away again. And then...

"House! Look!" She pointed at the rickety old dock and there, tied beside it was the little motorboat that had carried them over to the island two days prior, bobbing in the water as if it had never been moved.

He stopped and stared, shook his head as if to clear it, glanced briefly at the old house and then simply said, "Let's go home."


	5. Chapter 5

House drove them directly to the hospital and led Cameron straight to the clinic, pointing her toward the exam table and pushing up her sleeve so he could draw blood. Amused, she let him do what he needed to do, and then drew blood from him as well. In the doorway, Wilson stood befuddled, having just caught up with them.

"I would've done that for you," he said, glancing from House to Cameron and back again.

"Run the tests," House answered, thrusting the vials into Wilson's hands. "There's an MRI machine with our name on it."

Cameron followed him to the MRI control room, leaning against the wall with her arms folded across her chest as he fired up the computer.

"Ladies first," he said, passing her a hospital gown. "Suit up."

She shut the door to the hallway, and changed right there in the room, House swiveling around in his chair to watch. "You do know there's a screen in the other room you can change behind?"

Shrugging, she gave him a coy smile and replied, "You've already seen me naked." Turning her back to him, she waited, indicating he should tie the back of her gown for her. And she waited and waited a moment more, before turning her head to find him staring at her ass.

Looking up at her, he began tying the gown and said, "Wonder what an erection looks like under an MRI. I think we're about to find out."

"I'm going to MRI your other head," she joked, "so that mystery will remain unsolved."

The word _mystery _seemed to freeze them both for a second, and all traces of humor were sapped from the room. She wished she hadn't said anything, and somberly left the control area and laid herself down in the MRI. Only a piece of glass separated the two rooms, but she couldn't see him from inside the tube, and the clack clack clack of the machine seemed to drown out the world, making her feel isolated and alone.

His voice came over the speaker just when she felt the beginnings of what she could only diagnose as a panic attack. "Relax Cameron, you're just about done. And then you get to see me naked again. Lucky you."

"I can't wait," she said, smiling. Lying still, she took a few deep breaths to slow her frantic heart rate, aided by the sound of him humming some tune into the microphone. A few bars into his song, she recognized the melody and it started her heart racing for new reasons as she recalled the lyrics.

_Are you warm, are you real, Mona Lisa? _

_Or just a cold and lonely, lovely work of art._

Moved by the words of the song and words he'd said to her years ago, all she wanted was to feel his arms around her, to assure him she was real and warm and not just lobby art to be admired from afar.

"Okay Cameron, you're done," he said, and she emerged from the machine and went into the other room, right into his arms, causing him to stumble back in surprise as he grabbed hold of her.

"Oh look, I've got my own groupie," he quipped, holding her against him. "You okay?"

She nodded, blinking up at him as she tried to compose herself and explain, "Sorry... I just... that song.."

"Not a fan of Nat King Cole?"

"No... I love Nat King Cole," she said, chewing on her bottom lip in nervous uncertainty. "It's just I feel..."

"I know," he said, pushing her hair back off her face. In his eyes was an understanding of her need to be close to him, her need to keep that connection. "I get it. But at some point we're both going to have to get over this clingy phase. You know that, right?"

All she could do was nod and pull away, mollified by the fact that he was feeling the same thing. She handed him a hospital gown, and began pulling on her sweats, while he stripped off his. When he was naked, he pulled the gown on and turned, waiting for her to tie it up for him as he'd done for her.

"Try not to ogle me too much," he said, turning to look back at her.

"I'll try to control myself, but it's such a stunning ass," she joked, as she finished the knots.

He seemed to be struck speechless for a moment as he turned to look at her, and she could just about read his thoughts as he wondered how she could find him attractive. All she could do was smile up at him.

"Alright, I'm going in," he finally said. As he got to the door, he turned and added, "Talk to me."

He got in and she started the machine, keeping an eye on the computer in front of her. Leaning into the microphone, she said with a little laugh, "I'd sing for you, but I have a terrible singing voice." She paused, wondering what to say, and then out of nowhere she found herself telling him something she never thought she'd share.

"You know how I met my husband? I took an art class once, with a friend. We were working on still life, and they had this guy scheduled to come in to model, except he was late. So we were sitting there waiting and waiting and finally, he came rushing through the door and our teacher was so annoyed she just ordered him to hurry up and strip and stand on the little platform so we could get started. He was... so adorably shy about undressing in front of us, but he did it. He was so beautiful, I couldn't take my eyes off of him. And he... kept staring back at me too," she said, chuckling. "Well, just as class was about to end, another guy came rushing in, apologizing for his tardiness. Turned out Chris thought he was rushing into anatomy class. He told me later that he never would've stripped under normal circumstances, but... he really wanted to meet me."

By the end of her story, she was both laughing and crying, and House was done with his MRI. When he returned to her side, he looked down at her with a twinkle in his eye and said, "I'd have preferred a story about you getting naked, but... I can't say I blame the guy."

"Did you ever do anything crazy just to meet a girl? she asked, as he got dressed again.

"I joined the cheerleading team in college."

"You were a cheerleader?"

"Briefly. But if you ever tell anyone, I'll deny it."

Laughing, she asked, "And did you get the girl?"

"If by get her, you mean sleep with her, then yes. Turns out, though, that joining the team was unnecessary. She was easy. And not really worth the effort. Come on, let's do the EKG and EEG."

The other tests went quickly; the results of the MRI, EKG and EEG were all normal. They only had to wait for the blood work. While they waited, House checked the computer and Cameron checked the files in his office, the lab records and the room in which Pearl had been a patient. Just as Wilson said, there was no record of Pearl Cottin in any of the PPTH files, and their blood work revealed two relatively healthy individuals with no reason to hallucinate.

For the first time in two days House and Cameron parted ways, each going to their own home with more questions than answers, and for Cameron, an aching loneliness like she'd never experienced.


	6. Chapter 6

House and Cameron remained baffled about the whole situation, though life at PPTH returned to normal, at least on the surface. Whenever asked, Cameron answered only the barest of questions about what happened, choosing to hold the good memories dear because they felt sacred to her. And the bad parts were just too surreal to explain. House ignored all questions about it altogether, as if he could pretend it had never happen by ignoring it. Cameron carried on with work as if nothing had changed even though _everything had changed._

House had been much more subdued in the weeks that followed. He took charge of differentials as usual and immersed himself in each new case, but his usual spark was missing, along with his quick humor. She was afraid he'd left them behind in the creepy old house and there'd be no way to retrieve them, and that, in turn, added to her sense of loss as well. She missed him, especially at night when every creak of floorboard and every shadow made her heart seize up with fear as if the ghosts had followed her home. It was irrational, she knew, but nothing about that night in Pearl's house was rational.

She began to wonder if each new patient was real or just another figment of her imagination, and it was as if she was waiting for someone to tell her she'd officially gone insane. And in the back of her mind, those two days with House were stuck on constant replay.

As the weeks went by, she could see by the haggard look of House that he was sleeping about as well as she was, which was not well at all. She knew he must be questioning everything, just as she was, and that it was likely driving him just as crazy as it was her. Though they never spoke of their experience even with each other, the bond between them was still there in his eyes. At times she'd catch him staring, and find herself unable to look away, remembering his touch, the way he made her feel safe, the comfort he offered her over those two days. But then he'd turn away and it was back to business as usual.

And then one day, when he was in a particularly foul mood, he snapped at them, smacking his cane into the bookshelves and demanding test results for their patient.

"They're not ready yet," Chase replied, stepping out of the line of House's cane.

"Well put a rush on them," House retorted. "I'm tired of waiting."

A cold shiver went right down her spine at those words. He gave off an almost imperceptible shudder as his gaze locked with hers, the shared memory hovering in the air between them, and then he shut himself in his office and she didn't see him for the rest of the day.

She left work, intending to go straight home and nuke leftover pasta in the microwave, but instead she turned her car in the other direction. Heading south towards a tide-battered old dock just off the highway, she drove as if on autopilot, heeding the siren call of a place she found both fascinating and frightening. When she arrived, House's car was there, just as it had been a few weeks before. She parked beside it and got out, finding him at the edge of the little pier, staring out across the water at Pearl's house. As before, he looked to her like a salty sailor from a time gone by, as weathered as the old house with the wind off the ocean blowing his pea coat open so that it flapped behind him, and the lines on his face telling stories of the sea.

He didn't say anything and neither did she as they stood side by side against the stiff ocean wind. Gulls swooped and cawed, and the waves displayed lacy white caps as they rolled toward shore. The little motorboat, still tied right where they'd found it, bobbed in the water like a child's bath toy. Across the inlet, the house seemed to have grown, jutting out from the brown earth like a living thing. It seemed to expand and contract as if taking a deep breath and the windows looked like eyes, keeping watch over those who kept watch over it. Trembling, Cameron reached out and took House's hand and he squeezed hers in return.

"How many times have you come back here?" she asked, keeping hold of his hand.

"Don't know. A few," he said, looking down at her for a moment before turning back to stare at the house. "You?"

"A few," she said. And it was true; she'd made several trips, strangely drawn to that spot as if she'd find answers there. She wasn't surprised he'd returned as well, only wished that they could've gone together. "What do you think it is?"

"I don't know," he answered, but she could tell his mind was busy trying to work it out.

They stood that way for what seemed like hours, not speaking, just holding hands and watching the old house. Even from that distance, the house terrified Cameron. But what scared her even more was the possibility... the sudden realization of what was going through House's mind.

"Please tell me you're not going back there," she said, though she already knew that he wanted to, and he would.

He just turned and looked down at her, silent, but in his eyes was the answer she didn't want, a stormy sea of blue waiting for the calm. He had to know, had to solve the mystery, even if it meant going back into that place, and she inwardly cursed his stubborn persistence.

"House, please don't," she pleaded. "I know you need answers, but... please don't go back there."

The only answer she got was the sound of the waves rolling in and slapping the rocky beach and the hull of the little motorboat.

"How about if I promise I won't go alone," he finally said, and she knew that was the best she could hope for at that point, though she wanted to cling to him again, if for no other reason then to keep him from returning to that terrible house.

They stood a few minutes longer and then he turned to her again and asked, "You hungry?" and she nodded, though she wasn't sure she could actually eat after learning of House's plans.

"Good. Follow me. I know a place."

He led her to a diner in Silver Pine Beach, not far from the hotel where they'd spent the night after being rescued from the island. The place was a quaint fifties style eatery, with red vinyl booths and little juke boxes on each table. House moved past many of the empty booths, and straight to one occupied by an elderly couple sitting together on one side.

Henry Matthews stood and shook House's hand, greeting him with a hearty, "Doctor House, good to see you again. And you brought Miss Cameron, I see. Good to see you again too, young lady. This is my wife, Estelle."

Estelle was petite beside Henry, with silvery hair cut close to her scalp, piercing green eyes and a wide, friendly smile. She nodded, making the little ball earrings she wore bounce merrily beside her cheeks, and said, "It's nice to meet you."

Cameron was so stunned, she couldn't even offer up a greeting at first. House nudged her into the booth and then slid in beside her, plucking a menu from behind the napkin dispenser and passing it to her.

"I'm sorry," she finally managed, bending the laminated menu nearly in half and then setting it down on the table before she crushed it completely. "It's nice to meet you, Estelle. Henry spoke so highly of you."

Estelle blushed sweetly, and lightly hit Henry on the arm with the back of her hand. "Oh I bet he did," she retorted with a wink. "Probably said all I do is nag him."

The waitress came over and they ordered drinks, though Cameron could hardly think because of all the questions buzzing around her brain. It was clear that House had been in touch with Henry; she just had no idea how many times, or why.

As if he could read her mind, he turned to her and said, "Henry's a retired history professor from Chandler University. And Estelle is a librarian here in town."

"That's right," Henry interjected, with obvious pride in his wife. "Though she was the head librarian at the university. That's where we met."

"That's nice," was all Cameron could get out. Looking down at her hands, she realized she was weaving a napkin through her fingers like a snake, and she had to wonder what it was about being in close proximity to Pearl's house, or anyone who reminded her of it, that turned her into a neurotic mess.

The waitress came back to take their order and she vaguely recalled pointing at something on the menu before stuffing it back behind the napkin dispenser. Beneath the table, her legs were bouncing with nervous energy that seemed to spread from her toes up to her stomach; she was sure she wouldn't be able to eat a thing no matter what she ordered. House placed his hand on her knee as if to settle her, and she placed her own on top of his just to feel contact with him, to keep him there beside her.

"Well, Estelle and I did a little research on your house," Henry said. "There's not much to tell you. Most records from the time it was built are gone. But, far as I can tell, it was built by Abel Cottin in the mid 1840's and stayed in the family name, until the town claimed it."

"The historical society once talked of renovating the place and making it into a museum," Estelle added, "but the old house seems to have a way of... repelling people."

Henry chuckled at that and said, "That's true. I went over there once to explore and I couldn't make myself go in. They say it's haunted. I didn't put much stock in talk like that before, but when I got close enough to it... " he trailed off with a visible shudder. "I don't know of anyone who's ever lasted more than a few minutes in the place."

Cameron felt as if the blood had drained from her body, and clutched House's hand more tightly. She saw his Adam's apple bob as he took a gulp of soda and set the glass back down with a thunk.

"Why so interested in the place?" Henry asked, and House's gaze darted away and then back again as he shrugged and answered, "I'm a curious man."

"Was there any record of Abel's wife?" Cameron asked, "Or of any children."

"The wife's name was Struana," Estelle answered. "I remember, because it's such an unusual name. And I believe they had two children, sons, but one died in infancy and the other left home as soon as he was of age. We've no record of any other descendants."

"No one named Pearl?" Cameron persisted, the feeling of House's gaze warming her cheeks.

"No, not that I recall. Why do you ask?"

"I... thought I heard that name when we were on the island," Cameron answered with a nonchalant shrug, though the questions in her head multiplied like bunnies.

When their food came, she picked at hers and made small talk, learning bits and pieces about Henry and Estelle and telling them bits about herself, while House ate quietly beside her.

Outside the diner, they said their goodbyes to Estelle and Henry. Cameron stood leaning against her car, arms crossed over her chest as she watched House watching them drive away. "Why didn't you tell me you were in touch with Henry? That you were trying to find out about Pearl's house?"

"Don't know," he said, looking down into her face. He reached up and brushed back a strand of hair from her cheek, though the evening breeze blew it right back again. His fingers lingered on her skin as he considered his words. "You were scared in that house. I guess I didn't want you to be afraid anymore."

Those words, and the tenderness with which he said them, made her tingle from head to toe. She moved into him, wrapping her arms around him, the nubby wool of his coat rough against her skin. "I wish it could always be like this," she said, as he pulled her tighter into his embrace.

"But it can't," he murmured to the top of her head. "You know it can't."

"Why not?" she demanded, raising her hands up to his face to cup his whiskered cheeks, holding him there so he couldn't look away.

"Because... it just can't."

"I won't accept that answer," she said, barely refraining from shaking him. "You care about me; I know you do."

"I can't be the man you need me to be," he answered, and the sadness in his eyes brought tears to her own.

"You already are, House. I never wanted you to be anything else."

"It's not going to work, Cameron. I'm sorry." He disentangled from her, and got into his car, waiting for her to get into hers and then following her out of town, back to Princeton.


	7. Chapter 7

When she pulled into the hospital parking lot, she saw him immediately, standing beside his car as if waiting for her. Tapping his cane against the tarmac, he watched while she parked. She got out, hoisting her bag up on her shoulder and shutting her door with a nudge from her hip.

Leaning against the hood of his beat up Dynasty, he looked... almost defeated. Yet beneath the weariness in his face was a determination, a steely resolve that she'd seen many times before, but never had it held such intensity as it did in that moment.

"Need you to come with me," he said without preamble.

At his words, her heart slid down to somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach and began performing cartwheels. He didn't need to elaborate; she knew exactly what he meant.

"It can't be Wilson or Foreman or Chase or Henry or anybody else. It's not going to work. Not unless you come with me," he continued, pushing himself from her car to stand in front of her.

Looking away, she took solace in the glass and steel and brick of the hospital, longing to go inside and lock herself away and pretend there was no house full or terrors on a little island just off the shores of the Atlantic.

"I know what I'm asking," he said, running one hand down her arm to her wrist and then stroking her palm with his thumb. "I know. If there was any other way... "

She couldn't speak; her heart had crawled back up from her stomach and lodged itself in her throat. Every part of her cried out in protest, and if he wasn't touching her in a way that was both comforting and sensual, she was sure she would've run.

"The answer is there, Cameron. We have to go back." He looked down into her face and continued, "I think you feel it too."

Reluctant as she was to admit it, he was right. She felt the draw of the place too, the need for answers. It was the very reason she kept going back to that old dock. But the fear of that place always overtook any need she felt to unravel the mystery. Maybe some part of her hoped that House would figure it out on his own, or maybe she just really didn't want the answers because then she might lose this bond she felt with him.

"House... I don't know if I can," she finally said, as she moved into his arms, trembling and clutching him lest her knees give way.

"Do you think that I'd let anything hurt you?" he asked, and his eyes held promises that nearly made her cry. "I won't leave your side for one second. Trust me, please."

Taking a deep breath, she nodded, terrified still... but she could not say no to him. She never could. "When?" she asked.

"Now."

"Now?"

"We don't have a patient. Let's do it now and get it over with. Like ripping off a bandage."

"Yeah, as simple as that," she muttered, stuffing her keys into her pockets.

He opened the passenger door for her and she slid in, dropping her bag at her feet and yanking on her seatbelt while he rounded the car and got in, passing his cane to her. He started the engine and off they went, a sense of doom hovering in the space between them.

The trip to Silver Pine Beach was way too short and way too long all at once. Neither of them spoke as they sped down the highway past pine barrens and sleepy coastal towns. Cameron wanted to lock the car doors and stay inside when they arrived, but House was already waiting for her, and not far away, she spotted Henry Matthews standing at the end of the pier where his boat was docked. With a heavy sigh, she grabbed her bag and headed over to the Jolly Jane without a word.

Henry greeted her and she tried to smile, but found herself incapable, and simply lifted her hand in a half-hearted wave.

"You two sure you want to do this?" he asked, glancing from her to House, who just nodded and boarded the boat, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

"Alrighty then," Henry said, tossing ropes onto the deck and then climbing aboard. "I'll take you as close as I can and then you can take the raft over and I'll wait. Just bear in mind, we can't be out here too long. S'posed to storm again later. Estelle will have my hide if I'm not in before that. She worries."

He steered the boat away from the dock and out into the harbor, and soon the little island and Pearl's house became more than just dots on the horizon. The back of the house rose up out of the frozen earth, casting a dark shadow over the ground that seemed to have a life of its own.

House rowed them to shore in the little raft and tied it carefully to an outcropping of roots and brush along the shoreline. Reaching for Cameron's hand, he squeezed it and held on as they made their way solemnly up the embankment. The terrain was uneven, filled with holes and roots sticking up out of the ground, so they moved slowly.

As they neared the house, Cameron pointed to two little gray stones jutting out of the earth just steps beyond the back door, markers for the dearly departed. House released her hand only long enough to push away some of the overgrown weeds so they could read the first gravestone, worn and faded though it was. It read simply,

_Abel Cottin_

_1802 - 1863_

_Known by many _

_Loved by few_

Cameron blinked, saddened by such a tragic legacy, and wondered who would put something so terrible on a headstone, what kind of man could be so unlovable that he would inspire such an epitaph. Glancing over at House, she saw him shake his head as if he'd just emerged from an icy pool and she shivered and wrapped her free hand around his arm.

Moving on to the next grave, they nearly stumbled over a small, squat headstone that had nearly disappeared in the overgrowth where it rested between the two more prominent graves. A chipped Cherub sat haphazardly atop it and the stone read,

_Stephen Alistair Cottin_

_Born _

_March 3, 1847_

_Died_

_March 15, 1847_

_Beloved son of Abel and Struana Cottin_

Her heart squeezed painfully at the loss these people suffered, and a strange sensation came over her, as if she knew them and had suffered with them. Unable to bear it, she tugged House toward the last headstone, which read,

_Struana "Pearl" McCready Cottin_

_Born _

_March 11, 1823_

_Died_

_December 31, 1863_

_The sea carried her home_

Just past the little cemetery was a gnarled old tree, tall and leafless against the winter sky. It stood like a sentinel, branches like arthritic fingers hovering over the graves as if waiting to shoo away any intruder. Something about it made Cameron's scalp tingle with apprehension. One of its brittle limbs, rocking in the bitter winter wind, scraped against the wooden clapboards of the house like a claw and the sound raised goosebumps all over her flesh.

House tugged on her hand and they made their way up the rotting steps of the back porch, every nerve ending telling her to run away. The creak of the door felt like a warning, and she took a deep breath and told herself to be brave. House went in first, pulling her behind him into the kitchen. The room was warm and in the wood stove was the glow of burning embers as if someone had recently cooked a meal, but there was also a feeling of abandonment there, a chill that seeped deep into Cameron's bones. Above them, footsteps tapped out a rhythm across the hardwood floors and House and Cameron both froze for a second, looking up into the rafters of the kitchen as if they could see the restless spirit on the second floor.

"What are we looking for?" Cameron whispered, clutching at House's arm.

"Papers, documents, stuff like that," he said, leading her down the hallway toward the front room.

A shadow darted out from the front door and Cameron heard the swish of fabric, like the taffeta from her mom's old prom dress. A slight breeze stirred against her skin, the scent of rose water wafting past. Her fight or flight instincts kicked into high gear and she stifled a little gasp. As if he could read her reaction, feel the beat of her pulse as it increased its speed, House paused and drew her closer, softly saying, "We're okay, Cameron."

They turned and went into the parlor, stopping to glance at the spot on the floor where they'd tried to sleep that fateful night. The fireplace was cold, but laid with new wood as if ready for someone to light it against another cold winter evening, and candles were placed throughout the room, some burned down until they were mere stubs, their wicks darkened from past flames. The thick velvet curtains were drawn against the pale afternoon light; House let go of Cameron's hand for a moment, passing his cane to her so he could pull a flashlight from his backpack. He shone it around the room, illuminating the dark corners and the faded paper on the walls.

On a stand against one wall sat a large ancient book, a Bible within which the family history had been scrawled in a graceful calligraphy: marriages, births, deaths. The pages, delicate and thin as tissue, nearly dissolved at House's touch. But inside they read that Abel and Struana had wed in May of 1843 and had a second child in 1848, John Abel Cottin, whose death was not recorded. Slipped into the back of the book was a yellowed deed to the house in Abel Cottin's name, folded carefully into thirds, the creases nearly worn through.

Something in the room watched them, Cameron was sure, though it was only a feeling. But it made the hairs on her arms stand up and little prickles of fear light up her nerve endings.

Closing the Bible carefully, House turned and pulled her back toward the hallway and the staircase leading up to the second floor. Little tremors started from Cameron's feet and worked their way up to her head as they paused at the bottom of the steps.

"If you want to wait down here or outside, I'll go up alone," House said, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb in a soothing manner.

The idea of separating, of House alone in those rooms, was far more frightening than going up together, and her instant reaction was an emphatic, "No," and a shake of her head. "It's fine. It's... just noises and shadows right?" And spirits and disembodied voices, she thought with a shudder.

He nodded and looked into her eyes for a moment, conveying a message of pride for her courage. "Yup, noises and shadows," he agreed, though even his confident tone failed to convince her, nor did he seem to convince himself. She took his arm and they started up, the beam of the flashlight leading the way.

The sense of an unseen presence grew stronger with each stair they climbed, and at the top they noted the flicker of candlelight coming from the largest bedroom. House paused only a second and then led her in. On the large chest of drawers sat one fat candle; two smaller ones stood on the dressing table, the light from the flames reflected in the mirror behind them.

Leaning toward her, House spoke low in her ear, saying, "Let's just check the drawers and move on."

She let go of his hand reluctantly, and pulled open the top drawer of the chest and then the next and the next, finding nothing but petticoats and corsets and other undergarments from another era. Despite their age, they still held the scent of rose water like she'd smelled earlier downstairs, and it was as if the wearer of the clothes had just put them away. She felt strangely conflicted about touching them, intruding on someone long dead and yet still very much present. She kept one eye on House, who was rifling through the drawers of the dressing table. In the corner she noticed a mist beginning to form, just as House stood upright with an old leather book in his hand.

"I found a journal," he said almost triumphantly, and just as he finished, that familiar deep male voice from the chair said, "_I'm tired of waiting_," in a low growl and Cameron slapped her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out.

Startled, House stumbled back to Cameron and she hugged his arm, watching the mist form the vague figure of a man, slumped in the seat. "Waiting for what?" House asked, and Cameron's eyes grew wide with horror that he would speak to... a ghost.

_"Pearl,"_ the spirit answered in an angry voice. _ "I'm tired of waiting for Pearl."_

"House, please, let's go," Cameron pleaded, tugging on his arm like an impatient child.

He stuffed the book in his backpack and led her back to the stairs and out the back door. Once outside and past the gravestones, Cameron looked back, and in the window of one of the bedrooms she saw the same ghostly woman she'd seen in the parlor on New Year's Eve. Looking down on them, the woman seemed to raise her hand in a simple wave and then she faded away.

The sky was dark and foreboding as they made their way to the raft; it seemed to Cameron as if every time they came to this place the weather conspired to add to the haunting mood. House rowed them to the Jolly Jane, his biceps flexing beneath the sleeves of his pea coat, and she watched in wonder as his arms moved in perfect symmetry. He was so beautiful; it amazed her that he didn't know how beautiful he was, that he could think himself not "nice, charming, or particularly good looking." He was all those things and so much more to her. The whole experience with Pearl's house had changed her and changed the two of them together and she realized she would go through it all again just to have this closeness with him. Pearl had somehow brought them together, and though it was only for a time, it was worth every second of fear.

They arrived at the Jolly Jane, and she climbed the ladder, House's backpack slung over her shoulder with her own bag. As Henry hoisted up the raft and House made his way carefully behind her, the rain started to pour and thunder boomed in the distance.

"Here it comes," Henry shouted. "We're about to get soaked." He started the boat and headed for shore at full throttle while House and Cameron ignored the rain as they stared back at Pearl's house.

The storm got more and more fierce with each moment, and only the lights of Silver Pine Beach seemed to guide them back. As Henry predicted, they were soaked through by the time they reached shore. Back at Henry's dock, they helped him moor the boat, tossing ropes slick with rain that he tied in expert knots. And then they parted ways with shouted goodbyes and thank yous.

House blasted the heat once they were safely inside his car, but his wipers barely kept up with the downpour and so, like before, he followed the yellow light in the distance and pulled into the lot of the familiar hotel.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: We're still with House and Cameron in this chapter.**

Once inside the hotel room, House pushed the door shut with his cane, grabbed her bag from her shoulder and tossed it with his onto the nearest chair. His hair was matted to his head from the rain, and little drops were rolling off the end of his nose. Cameron thought he still looked amazing, his blue eyes bright in the dimly lit room like spot lights that sought her out. Her own hair was dripping down her back and leaving wet splotches on her shoulders. She reached up to pull it up into a knot, when House moved forward and began unbuttoning her coat, sliding it off her shoulders, and starting on her blouse while she stood before him shivering and blinking.

"What are you doing?" she asked, between the clacking of her chattering teeth.

"Need to get you out of these wet clothes," he answered, with an implied "duh" in his voice. "Should get out of mine too, come to think of it."

One touch of his hands on her bare shoulders as he slid her blouse off and she was kindling set aflame by his touch. He leaned down and kissed her and she forgot all about her questions and let her senses take over, fumbling to help him remove his coat and his shirt as his fingers slid through her wet hair to angle her head just right. His kisses were urgent and tender at the same time, fueling the fire he'd started within her and warming her chilled skin. She kicked off her shoes as he pushed her pants down over the curve of her ass. Stepping out of them, she almost stumbled as he pulled her tight against him, nearly swallowing her in his embrace. Like they had a will of their own, her hands moved over his biceps, up his shoulders and down over his shoulder blades, relishing in the feel of his muscles moving beneath her fingertips; he was a living, breathing work of art, breathtakingly beautiful and sensual all at once.

Easing her toward the bed, he hooked his cane to the headboard and sat, pulling her with him so that she was straddling his lap. He slid his hands up her back and unclasped her bra, pulling it down her arms and tossing it away. Her fingers worked the button and zipper of his jeans, frantic to join their bodies completely. And all the while, he continued kissing her and touching her, a connoisseur of her body, savoring and devouring.

His hands were meant to touch her, she thought, as they molded themselves to her curves. Under her palms, his damp skin sent little electrical charges through her and it felt as if her blood was vibrating through her veins. She could never be close enough to him, though she tried, melding herself to his body as he slid her panties down her legs and urged her to accept him. He had her on the edge from the first kiss, and when she lowered herself onto him, she could barely contain the pleasure that flowed through her like a current.

He held her as if she were precious to him and made her feel safe and cherished as she rocked her body against his. Every touch was an extension of the protective way he watched over her at Pearl's house; he spoke with his hands and his kisses in ways he seemed incapable of with words, telling her things she'd always longed to hear. But she couldn't be sure if he was conscious of it, if it would last or if he'd push her away once again when it was all over, and that made her cling to him all the more. Her feelings for him nearly spilled out of her through the tears in her eyes and the way she murmured his name and clutched him as she came. It was all she could do to keep from whispering words of love that would surely drive a wedge between them as he followed her to the peak of ecstasy and over.

While she caught her breath, he held her against him; her head rested in the crook of his neck, her fingers finding the rapid pulse of his jugular. All along her back, his large warm hands moved in soothing motions as his breathing began to slow. Outside, the sky was black as midnight, lightning flashing through the crack in the curtains with seizure-inducing frequency and thunder shaking the skies, and she breathed a sigh of relief that they were there in the hotel room instead of caught in the storm.

Pressing a kiss to her head, he nudged her off of him and she slid over and yanked the covers down so that she could crawl beneath them. Separated from the warmth of his body, the chill of the room raised goosebumps on her skin and she looked ruefully at the pile of wet clothes on the floor. House flipped on the lamp, grabbed his cane, extended it toward the chair and hooked it on the strap of his backpack, dragging the bag over to the bed. Rummaging through it, he pulled out a clean, dry button down and passed it to her, and she smiled her gratitude and pulled it on, inhaling the scent of him that lingered in the fabric.

He set the bag aside for a moment and slid his jeans off, dropping them to the floor, and pulled his boxer briefs back up before sliding beneath the covers beside her. In that moment she realized that he'd taken care of her first, again, and it touched her as much as his lovemaking and brought her such joy that she was nearly overcome with it and had to blink back tears. If it were possible, she'd freeze time and stay with him here in this place where his walls were down and he showed her the tenderness and affection she'd always suspected he was capable of.

"Okay?" he asked, and all she could do was swallow the lump in her throat and nod.

Almost reverently, he pulled Pearl's journal from his backpack, setting it on his leg and discarding his bag. The book was bound in scuffed brown leather, several inches thick with sepia toned pages and a strip of faded blue ribbon slipped between the pages. The musty smell of a bygone era emanated from it, clinging to the dust motes that floated away from the ancient paper within.

House looked at her with eyebrows raised and asked, "You ready for this?"

She nodded again and scooted closer to him so that they could read it together. He opened the front cover and they read the name, _Struana McCready 1843, _written in a graceful script. House turned to the next page and the story began.

_to be continued_

**A/N: I decided to do the journal (Abel and Pearl's story) as one chapter and then return to House and Cameron in the next chapter. I will try to post them on the same day, so if you wish to skip the journal, you can just click ahead to the next chapter. **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I apologize for the long wait on this. There is one more chapter to go, and I will be posting it up right now. Thanks for your patience. This chapter is mostly the journal entries, so if you're not interested in that, you can skip ahead to the next one. **

_11 March 1843_

_Dearest Stephen purchased this journal for me as a birthday gift. I hope to keep record of our adventures here, as we set forth for America. _

_Today Stephen and I secured our passage aboard the Alyson. For the first time I met the infamous Captain Cottin and I must say that he was nowhere near as terrible as I had always heard him described. I had imagined a man so horrible that one would not dare to look upon his face. Perhaps my imagination had run away from me, but whenever I had heard him spoken of, there was a tone of loathing as if he were the most despicable man to walk the earth. Stephen himself had told me that the captain was recalcitrant and lacking the good manners that come from a proper upbringing. What I found in Captain Cottin was a reasonably handsome man with the coldest blue eyes I had ever seen that put me in mind of the ice floes along the edge of the river. He did not smile or tip his hat, but there was something of a curiosity behind those eyes of his as he stared me down and I knew then that he was a mere man and not the fabled monster I had conjured up in my imagination._

_24 March 1843_

_Stephen and I leave for America tomorrow. I have resolved not to cry for Mother's sake, though I shall miss her and Father dearly. If not for my excitement for the adventure ahead of me, I would simply dissolve into a river of tears and Stephen would have to scoop me into his decanter and carry me aboard the ship. I am only thankful to have my brother with me on this journey. _

_25 March 1843_

_We are on our way. The sea air is brisk, but preferable to being cooped up below deck with the other passengers. I find myself hoping for glimpses of Captain Cottin, though I have been told that he prefers his solitude. _

_28 March 1843_

_Stephen has taken ill. I believe that the sea does not agree with him. Many of the passengers are also ill and it makes for a very uncomfortable journey. I am reminded of the sheep stuffed into their pen back at home. We are afforded scant personal space and there is very little privacy. I feel a twinge of conscience that I am unaffected by the motion of the ship like so many others. But Stephen is thankful to have my company_. _I caught a glimpse of the captain today while walking about the deck. He looked so stately pacing about with his hands clasped behind his back. I couldn't help but curtsy and offer a greeting. He merely offered a reluctant "Miss McCready" in reply, and I must say that it was a pleasant and unexpected surprise that he recalled my name. _

_29 March 1843_

_Stephen fares no better. I wish there was something I could do to ease his discomfort. I spoke again to Captain Cottin today. I was very bold and went right up to him to inquire about the length of our journey. He looked down upon me with such a scowl; I must admit I nearly laughed for it reminded me of cousin Mary's corgi who is prone to growl fiercely when displeased, but is as harmless as a rose petal. He said, "Miss McCready, why do you insist on asking foolish questions when you already know the answer?" And I said, "Perhaps because I long to hear something besides the wind." _

_1 April 1843_

_I'm very afraid that Stephen's illness is more severe than first thought. He grows weaker and weaker each day. I do not wish to leave his side, but he insists I take to the deck for fresh air lest I get sick myself. I have encountered Captain Cottin nearly every day. I suspect he enjoys our encounters as much as I do, for he is not known to be seen among the passengers so often. Stephen likes to hear of our brief conversations and I believe his impression of the captain grows more favorable. _

_5 April 1843_

_Stephen requested a meeting with Captain Cottin. I don't know what he wants to say; he won't tell me. But I am very worried._

_6 April 1843_

_Today Stephen bid me stay by his side. He is very weak and pale and thin. I cannot bear the thought of losing him. _

_9 April 1843_

_Stephen is gone. I am alone. _

_16 April 1843_

_Captain Cottin has sent for me. I have barely left the passenger's quarters since Stephen's passing. If it were possible I would throw myself into the sea and swim home to Mother and Father. _

_17 April 1843_

_Captain Cottin is an insufferable man. I do not understand him at all. We had a quarrel today. He said to me, "Miss McCready, you will dine with me for the remainder of our journey." When I told him I wished to take my meals below with the other passengers, he scowled and said, "That wasn't a request, Miss," and I said, "I'm not one of your shipmen, Sir, that you may order around." Then he made a grunting sound and marched off. _

_18 April 1843_

_I spoke to the captain again today and requested return passage when we arrive in America. Without Stephen there is nothing there for me. I fear I am not brave enough to make my way alone in a new land. Captain Cottin would not give me an answer at first about return passage. He merely began to walk away from me, but I grabbed hold of his sleeve and firmly told him I would like an answer. He said, "Miss McCready, if you can pay for your passage, then I will return you safely home. If you cannot pay then I will drop you on the shore to fend for yourself." I miss Stephen dearly._

_19 April 1843_

_Today I presented the Captain with my fare for return passage. He would not take it, nor would he speak to me. That man infuriates me. _

_20 April 1843_

_I find myself often contemplating Captain Abel Cottin. It makes a nice distraction when I begin to sink into despair longing for Stephen's company. I do believe the captain is the most capable man I have ever met, so his given name is quite apt. I caught him humming a mournful tune today and it was terribly sad and beautiful all at once and I found myself crying. He turned to me as if he'd known I was there all along and said, "What do you want, Pearl?" in a very soft voice. I was certain he'd mistaken me for someone else, and I said, "My name is not Pearl, Sir. My given name is Struana." And he said, "I know," and turned away. I fear I will never understand him. _

_23 April 1843_

_The captain has again asked me to dine with him, though he did so in such a way that it seemed as if it pained him to do so. I accepted. I have begun to think of him as Abel in my secret thoughts. _

_24 April 1843_

_I have discovered something unsettling. I love Abel. I love that infuriating man. I wish I had Stephen to advise me. _

_27 April 1843_

_Abel continues to call me Pearl with no explanation as to why. He is by turns gruff and short-tempered with me and then kind and tender. I wonder if he knows of my feelings. I wonder if he feels anything for me. Tonight we talked of the sea. We stood on the deck with a vast array of stars above us and he said that this was his home. He looked into my eyes when he said it, as if he meant for me to truly understand him. _

_1 May 1843_

_In just over a fortnight we will reach America's shores. I don't know what will become of me. Abel remains silent on the subject of my return passage. _

_3 May 1843_

_Yester evening Abel was in a foul mood. I did not know what to make of it, and only tried to act as if nothing was amiss. Then in his usual abrupt manner, he said to me, "Miss McCready, if you've any romantic notions of me, you must disavow yourself of them immediately." I must confess I laughed, which only seemed to darken his mood further. I did not mean to be unkind, but his words startled me, unexpected as they were. We walked along the deck in silence for a while and then he said, "Why are you here, Pearl? Why do you not flee in mortification at my insults and vulgar ways like every other civilized woman?" I said to him, "I don't find you vulgar, Captain. You are the most forthright man I have ever known, not given to coddle one unnecessarily, but kind in your own way. You've been a great comfort to me." After that, he merely looked at me strangely and then bid me goodnight. _

_4 May 1843_

_Today has brought the most unexpected of surprises. Abel was more surly than usual. With the darkest expression on his face, he said to me, "Pearl, what would you say if I proposed marriage?" I felt as if the breath had been pulled from me and could not speak at first. He grew impatient and began to walk away, and I took hold of his sleeve and said, "I would say yes, Captain," and he said, "Then you are a fool, Pearl." I simply smiled and put my arms around him and he looked down at me and said with such a fierce scowl on his face, "If you are foolish enough to feel any affection for me, then you will be punished accordingly by having the dubious distinction of becoming my wife."_

_We were married right away by Abel's first mate and Abel had my things moved to his cabin. I am now Struana Cottin, and I can scarcely believe it. After the ceremony, Abel left me in his cabin and went back to his duties, and I stayed there becoming friends with the books and belongings of this man I love so much. My husband. _

_10 May 1843_

_There was a terrible storm yesterday that came upon us suddenly. I was merely walking along the deck when the ship tipped violently to one side and I was thrown over the side of the hold area. I did not fall far, but it was terribly frightening. One of Abel's men lowered another down with a rope and fetched me back up. Abel was very angry and told me to go back to the cabin and stay there, and I felt very foolish to be scolded in such a way. Instead, I went down to the passenger area and back to Stephen's bunk. My ankle was throbbing mercilessly and I found myself missing him with a near desperation. I laid down and cried for I don't know how long before Abel appeared again and carried me back to his cabin. He was so gentle, tending to my ankle and drying my tears and I knew then that he'd only been angry with me out of fear and worry. I do believe sometimes that he might love me._

_3 June 1843_

_We have arrived on the shores of America, at last. Abel says we will stay here in this town called Silver Pines for a bit before he has to go back to sea. He is building a house for me. We have quarreled over that house endlessly. I don't want to be left here. I want to sail with Abel, but he tells me the sea is no place for me. He is wrong. I love it as much as he does and I want to be with him wherever he goes. _

_15 July 1843_

_Abel is gone back to his ship. He has built me a magnificent house on a little island where I can look out over the ocean and watch for him. I know the building of the house cost him dearly to have it constructed so quickly. It's the loveliest house I've ever seen and I despise it with all that is within me. I pleaded with Abel to let me stay with him, but he grew angrier and angrier until finally he told me I'd only be more of a nuisance on the ship and that he only married me to fulfill a promise to Stephen that he would look after me. Those were his final words to me before he left. _

_16 July 1843_

_Abel has hired a maid to stay and help me and keep me company. Her name is Mary and she's rather unpleasant, but efficient. She seems to be as unhappy to be here as I am, though I know Abel has paid her handsomely. I do not think she likes being on this island. The merchant in Silver Pines, Mr. Olger, has agreed to come out to the island once a fortnight to bring us supplies. Abel left me a generous supply of money and I have ordered a number of books, which will be to me better company than Mary. _

_30 August 1843_

_I have neglected my journal these past weeks because there is nothing new to write of. My days are spent reading, walking along the shores of my little island prison and waiting for Abel's return. I have also cultivated a little garden in the back of the house with seed packets that Mr. Olger brought for me. This place is terribly lonely. Mary gave up and went back to Silver Pines with Mr. Olger last week. She returned to me the money that Abel had paid her and bid me goodbye. I do not miss her. I am no more alone now than I was in her presence. _

_10 October 1843_

_Winter is fast approaching. Lately I toy with the idea of going into town with Mr. Olger and staying there. I do not relish a long winter alone on this island. I grow hopeless at the idea that Abel will return. Maybe he meant to leave me here for good and go on about his life. Any idea I ever entertained that he might love me has disappeared with the warmth of the summer sun. He has fulfilled his promise; he has seen to my care and there is nothing more for him to do. And yet, I love him still and miss him so. Every ship I see in the distance sets my heart to pounding with anticipation, but I am only met with disappointment. _

_12 November 1843_

_Abel has come home. I was so overjoyed at the sight of him striding up the path from the beach that I charged straight into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time. He touched my cheek, smiled and said, "So you've missed me then?" Foolish man. I will make him love me yet. _

_15 November 1843_

_Abel is only home for a few weeks and then he will set sail again. My heart despairs at the thought. While he is here, this island is a happy place and I will cherish this time, though the immediate future looms before me like a dark storm on the horizon. He was displeased to learn that Mary abandoned me and vowed to go and hire another maid, but I have dissuaded him. There is not enough work here for two women, I told him. I did not say that no other woman wishes to be isolated here as I have been. _

_1 December 1843_

_Abel is gone again. I can't feel too unhappy because I could see how much he longed to be back on his ship while he was here with me. I only wish for him to be happy. I asked again if I could go with him, but he scowled and shook his head and so I let the matter drop. Pressing him would only lead to more quarreling. He has left me with a new supply of books to fill the new shelves he built for me. He also gave to me a little pearl on a gold chain, which he clasped around my neck so tenderly. I miss him so already._

The journal entries went on in this manner for quite a few pages: Abel returning from sea only to leave Pearl again and again. The loneliness she felt seemed to rise off the paper like a living thing. Cameron thought she might break down and cry at the very thought of Pearl alone in that house for so many months and years. And then...

_9 April 1846_

_Abel is home. He was not expected until the fall, but today I saw several men coming up from the beach, supporting Abel between them. He looked so gaunt and pale, I knew immediately that something was wrong. With my heart in my throat, I ran to meet them and helped to get him to our bed. There was a terrible accident aboard the ship, they said, and Abel was injured. His right arm is supported by a sling of fabric and his fingers are so swollen they look like fat sausages. He is in a great deal of pain and very sullen and angry. His men left again. A new captain will take Abel's ship. All I can do is tend his wounds and try to keep him still. _

_16 April 1846_

_Abel is very unhappy. He growls at me like an angry cur no matter what I do. He knows he will likely never heal enough to take the helm of his ship again. My heart breaks for him. He barely rests, and insists on pacing along the widow's watch, looking out toward the sea. As much as I've longed to have him with me, this is the furthest from my wishes. I love him so. I wish it was enough. _

_20 April 1846_

_Abel grows a bit stronger each day, though he is still in great pain. He marches down to the beach daily and spends hours staring out across the water and I know how much he misses it. I've lain beside him every night, reading to him from my collection of books. He doesn't say, but I think he enjoys it if even only a little bit. His presence is all that is required to secure my happiness. I just wish I could make him as happy as he makes me. _

_25 April 1846_

_Today Abel arranged for the merchant to return to Silver Pines with me, without so much as a by-your-leave. I grew furious and refused to go. I have never been so angry in all my life; I do believe I scared poor Mr. Olger. He took to his skiff and rowed back to shore with a speed I have never seen before. And then Abel was angry with me for not going along. He demanded to know why I stayed with him. He repeated that he did not love me and had only married me to fulfill a promise and that I should take my leave of him while I had the chance. I told him that I would do no such thing, that I loved him regardless of his feelings on the matter and that I only wished to make him happy. He called me a fool and then laughed in such a way that I knew there was no humor behind it. He said that if I refused to free myself, then I deserved to be stuck with a bitter, broken old man. I simply took his arm and led him back to the house. We sat on the porch quietly for a while, keeping watch over the waves of the ocean and then I said to him, "I do not think you are old or broken," and he laughed, a real laugh, for the first time in a very long time._

_27 April 1846_

_Abel is a stubborn, stubborn man. He has removed the sling from his arm, though it pains him more without it. He is determined to act as if he is healed completely, though he is likely slowing his recovery. He will not listen to reason. For such a smart man, he can be such a fool. _

_1 May 1846_

_I was out behind the house today caring for the laundry when Abel came out and sat on the steps. He just sat and watched for a long time, unnerving me with those eyes of his, and then he said, "You are very beautiful, Pearl," and I felt as if I must have blushed as red as the fat cardinals that perch in the pines on a winter's day. Those words made me unbearably happy. It is little moments like these where I believe that he may come to love me. _

_10 May 1846_

_Today was gray and rainy, and Abel woke in a churlish mood. The damp sets into his arm and makes him ache so. I made a warm compress and laid it against his arm, and then I sat beside him and read from a book of poems. In the midst of my reading, he put his hand on the book and pressed it down and said to me, "Why do you love me, Pearl?" His question caught me unawares, and I had to stop and think for a moment. Finally I said, "I love you because you're you."_

_12 May 1846_

_This afternoon I made fern pies for Mr. Olger and his wife, with an extra batch especially for Abel. He sat at the table watching, the back door open to the fresh spring breeze. He didn't speak, just watched, occasionally humming a little tune. His mood was much improved, which made me very happy. While the pies were resting, we sat on the back porch together and he said to me, "You're a comfort to me, Pearl." Then later, we walked down to the beach and stood facing the sea for a while. I put my arm in his and said, "I know how much you miss it," and he turned to me and said, "I have not been entirely truthful with you, Pearl. While I did promise Stephen that I would look after you, I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you and that is why I married you." He loves me. The dearest, most wonderful man in the world loves me. I require no more than this. _

The entries went on in this vein for a while and Cameron felt strangely happy for this woman from another era, who had finally won the heart of the man she loved. Their happiness however, was dampened by future events.

_18 November 1846_

_I am with child. Abel seems only to fear for my health, but I am quite certain I must be the happiest woman alive. _

There were more entries about Pearl's pregnancy and then...

_5 March 1847_

_Our son has come early. He will not live long; I feel it in my heart. I have called him Stephen Alistair after my beloved brother. I hope they will meet in Heaven. _

_15 March 1847_

_My sweet baby boy has passed on. My heart has died within my chest, and I will lay it in the grave with my beautiful son. _

_30 April 1847_

_Abel carved a stone to mark Stephen's grave. I went out there for Abel's sake, though I want only to stay to my bed. _

House and Cameron were coming to the end of the journal. They read about the journey of healing from the loss of her son, how Pearl's grief lessened in its intensity with time, though never disappeared altogether. In June of 1848, she gave birth to another child, a healthy boy named John Abel, after his father. Cameron wondered if maybe caring for her son had so consumed Pearl, that she neglected her journal, though there were brief accounts of the child's accomplishments and more mentions of Abel, and Pearl's love for her little family.

_29 October 1863 _

_Father sends word from Scotland that Mother is very ill. He wishes me to return at once. John Abel will accompany me. I have begged Abel to come with us, but he refuses. Stubborn man. He says that if he cannot captain the ship, he will not set foot on it. I have not been parted from him for many years now. It is strange to think that it is I who will go off to sea and leave Abel behind. I wish he would change his mind. I will miss him terribly. _

_30 October 1863_

_John Abel and I depart tomorrow. I am leaving my journal behind. Abel has purchased a new one for me, as there are few pages left to fill in this one. I do believe he most wanted to be certain I had enough paper to write to him daily. I've a feeling he wants to come with us, but he is too stubborn to admit it. I despair of thinking of him alone in the house. I only hope to get back to him as soon as possible. It feels very strange to be leaving him behind, as if I am leaving a vital part of myself. _

That was the last entry written by Pearl. There were several more, written by Abel in a strong, masculine hand- letters to Pearl as he waited for her to come home. They were so full of longing and regret and heartbreak, that Cameron could hardly breathe from the pain in her chest his words brought.

_5 December 1863_

_Dearest Pearl,_

_Just as you have written, I am a stubborn foolish man. From the moment I watched your ship take leave from the shore, I knew that I had made a terrible mistake. You are the very force that has kept me alive all these years when otherwise I would have given myself up as a useless shell of a man. I am ashamed of how often I let you believe that I was indifferent to your affections and charms. Pearl, I have never been indifferent to you. I know now how lonely you were all those years here while I was away at sea and it tears at the very fabric of my heart. Perhaps I even suspected it would be so when I built this house for you, but I could not bear the thought of leaving you in town where you might meet some handsome gentlemen who would surely try and steal your heart from me. From the moment I set eyes on you, I felt that you were mine. I should have kept you with me always, but I feared for your safety on the ship and I feared you would grow to resent the months at sea. Without you, this house, this island, is a prison. I am going mad with need for you, Pearl. _

_Your devoted husband,_

_Abel _

_25 December 1863_

_My Dearest Pearl,_

_How is it that I have never told you how I came to call you Pearl? I am ashamed of how much of my heart I kept from you. Upon our first meeting, I thought that you must surely be a rare treasure from the sea, a pearl of a woman. You must know how foreign such thoughts were for me at that time, and I felt foolish immediately. I had encountered many beautiful women, some of whom even tried to garner my affections, though I was and am firmly convinced that they were more enamored of my pocketbook than they were of my charms given that I have no charms whatsoever. They were easily frightened off; I felt no crisis of conscience for my harsh treatment of those vain and foolish creatures. And then you came along and set me as off-kilter as a sudden and violent storm at sea. You were not so easily put off, Pearl, and for that I am eternally grateful. I miss you with a desperation that borders on madness, Pearl. Please come home to me soon. _

_A slave to your affections, I am_

_Abel_

The letters were all of the same theme: Abel's loneliness and longing to tell Pearl all that was in his heart. With each one, Abel's sense of desperation became more and more apparent; Cameron wondered if he did eventually go insane. His words were like little stones tossed on the river of time, casting ripples that spanned the generations between them.

House glanced at Cameron briefly, an inscrutable look in those fathomless blue eyes of his, and then he turned to the last page.

_14 February 1864_

_I have received a letter from John Abel today, and it may as well have been my own death notice. Pearl is gone, died at sea before ever making it to Scotland. She did not live to see 1864. John Abel will stay with his grandparents, and I will dig myself a grave for I am as good as dead without her. _

to be continued


	10. Chapter 10

Snapping closed the journal, House laid it gently on the nightstand beside him. He glanced at Cameron solemnly as they processed what they'd read, and she glanced back, unable to put her thoughts into words. The ending was terribly unsatisfactory, and she had to acknowledge her naive hope for a happier outcome for these two people she only knew through this journal and through her experiences at Pearl's house.

"So... that was interesting," House finally said, and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the understatement. She felt as if she'd just taken a journey through time, sailed a stormy sea of emotions, and she was both exhausted and exhilarated at once.

The clock read 2:17 am. Clicking off the lamp, House burrowed down under the covers and said, "Let's just get some sleep."

Cameron curled up beside him, smiling as he wrapped an arm around her, and soon she was asleep with the heat of his body warming her skin, and she dreamed vivid images of House as the captain of a ship, longing for a reunion with his one true love.

When they awoke, the sun was streaming through a crack in the curtains, creating a stripe of light across the bed. Cameron disentangled from House and sat up, looking at the clock and seeing that it was almost 11 am.

"We're late for work," she said, looking down on him all rumpled and sexy with sleepiness.

"No kidding," he muttered, carving a path in his thigh with the heel of his hand and gesturing for his jeans.

She rose and gathered their still-damp clothes, digging in his pockets for his Vicodin and passing them to him. While he swallowed down his pills, she pulled on her pants and blouse, shuddering as the cold fabric touched her skin.

House stood and limped to the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door as he peed, and Cameron shook her head in amusement. She sat on the edge of the bed, toying with his t-shirt as she waited. When he came back out, he sat beside her and pulled on his jeans and then his tee. With his shirt only halfway on, he froze, his gaze focused away from her and then he turned, eyeing her with an almost accusatory look.

"Did you take the journal?"

"No," she said, blinking at him in confusion. "You left it on the nightstand last night."

She stood and moved to stand in front of him, staring at the bedside table that now held only the lamp, the alarm clock, and House's vial of Vicodin. While she stared, rubbing her forehead in confusion, House grabbed up his bag and emptied it on the bed, then shook out her coat and his own. Bringing herself out of her stupor, Cameron knelt and looked beneath the bed and behind the nightstand, but found nothing. She opened drawers and pulled back all the bedding, but the journal was nowhere to be found.

As strange as it sounded in her head, Cameron couldn't help but think that Abel had come in the night and retrieved it, and she shivered at the very thought. She didn't voice her thoughts out loud, but she suspected House was thinking something very similar. He gathered up his things again, shoving them back in his bag, and said, "Come on, let's get out of here."

He drove back to Princeton in silence, and Cameron felt that the closeness they shared the night before had evaporated like morning dew. When they arrived at the hospital, he dropped her next to her car and told her, "Go home and change if you want. I'll see you back here later," and then he drove off.

mdmdmdmdmdmd

Two weeks had passed and House did not mention their trip back to Pearl's house or their night in the hotel. At work he was quieter than usual, and Cameron often found him looking at her intently, that blue gaze settling on her like a physical touch, and she wondered what was going through his mind. She missed him, missed the intimacy of what they'd shared, but she knew better than to push him for more.

One night, as she sat on her couch picking at her dinner, he came, knocking on the door with the handle of his cane as he'd done once before. Her heart started to thump with anticipation and hope, but she schooled her features into something she hoped was neutral and went to let him in.

"House," she greeted, swinging the door wide in invitation. Dark stubble matched the dark circles under his eyes, standing out against his pale skin, as if someone had sketched his face in charcoal.

He said nothing, just moved past her and lowered himself to the couch, picking up her abandoned dinner and popping some in his mouth.

"Did you come here just to eat my food?" she asked, settling beside him.

"No," he answered, swallowing and glancing around the room and taking in everything but her. "I missed you."

"I've missed you too," she murmured. "If you weren't such an idiot, we wouldn't have to miss each other."

"True," he said with a humorless laugh.

"Take off your coat," she said, tugging on his sleeve.

"Why?"

"Because it means you'll stay awhile."

As he shrugged out of his pea coat, he said, "I thought... I could change. Be better. Be the kind of man you deserved, and then we could be together."

"House I never asked..."

"Shut up and let me finish," he said, looking at her briefly before continuing. "I kept telling myself that with time, I'd be good enough for you. But... it's not happening. If I can change... it's going to take a long time."

"I never wanted you to change," Cameron said, shaking her head in exasperation. "I just want you to be happy."

"I don't know if that's possible," he replied, leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes. There was a long pause and she wondered if he was falling asleep. But then he opened his eyes and looked at her. "I didn't tell you... I saw her that night in the house. Pearl. She looked... like you," he finally said, searching her face, his fingers gently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

She closed her eyes and murmured, "I saw her too," taking a deep breath before he continued.

"I've tried to find some logical explanation for all of this, but... " he trailed off at a loss and she nodded in agreement.

"Come on." He pulled her up, keeping her hand in his and limped down the hallway to the bedroom.

"What are we doing?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"We're going to bed together, and not to sleep," he answered with a waggle of his eyebrows. "Well, we'll sleep eventually."

"House," she said, stopping just outside her bedroom door, frustrated with this off and on thing they had. "How many times are we going to do this?"

"Well I'm old, but I'm probably good for at least three rounds tonight... " He stopped and looked at her humorless expression, then became serious again. "I can't change, so I hope you're serious about taking me as I am. You deserve better, and maybe with time I could be... better. But I want to be with you."

"Why now?" she wondered, though she knew that Pearl and Abel's story, the house, had affected him just as deeply as it had her. While she waited for his answer, she ran her thumb in soothing circles over his knuckles, silently willing him to say words she wanted to hear.

"Why now?" he repeated. "Because... I'm tired of waiting."

**Author's notes: **

When I first wrote this, it was very different. Pearl was meant to be a real patient, a little old lady who just happened to live in a creepy house. The story was pretty much done when I started posting it, but then it changed so much that it took me quite by surprise and I had to make a lot of changes. That is one of the reasons it took so long to finish it. My apologies for the wait.

Cottin is a Norse word that means "little house."

The name Struana is Scottish and means "from the stream."

Cameron is also a name of Scottish descent.

In case anyone missed this little detail, Pearl died on New Year's Eve, which ties back to the start of the story.

I left the resolution purposely vague. You could conclude that either House or Cameron are directly descended from the Cottins or that perhaps they are Abel and Struana, reincarnated. The only thing that is certain is that Pearl (Struana) wanted them to be together, or perhaps she only sped up what was already fated to be.


End file.
